


who knows what happens after here

by ellatrobbie



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, spoilers for all of season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2857694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellatrobbie/pseuds/ellatrobbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>five post-scripts and one new beginning // Don and Sloan through season three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	who knows what happens after here

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially inspired by post-script by typhoon, but then supplemented by a playlist I like to call "Don Keefer's heart-eyes". 
> 
> I'm still a little unsure writing Sorkin characters, but I hope this is half-way decent. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.

_One - April 19_

“What happens exactly if the twins buy out AWM?” He asks suddenly, as he’s unbuttoning his shirt and kicking his shoes off at the same time. They haven’t talked about it since Sloan rushed to warn Reese and then they found out about Neal. And then Will gave a big speech. Or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, everything was said and no answers were given so everyone went home with questions. Questions like the ones mulling around his head. “What are the chances that they’ll want to keep everything exactly as it is and let us do our jobs? Is _that_ something you can see on your Bloomberg Terminal?”

Sloan looks at him from across the room like he’s never been dumber. Which may actually be true. But he’s tired, like really _really_ tired. If there was an award for the world’s longest week, this one is definitely in the running.

She doesn’t even bother responding to his questions, just follows up with her own. “Do you think Neal is going to be alright?”

He nods quickly, “Becca Halliday is coming in tomorrow, if anyone can sort this out she can.” Optimism doesn’t come naturally to him, but he figures they could both use some tonight.

She drops her dress on the floor, and digs through his drawers for a t-shirt she can sleep in. That she’s standing in her underwear and he doesn’t bat an eyelash is the real sign he is definitely tired. Because, yeah, he’s seen it all before, but it’s a nice view, and he really likes it.

She goes to his bathroom to brush her teeth and he tosses his clothes in the general direction of his laundry basket before following her. The t-shirt, from a charity run he’d done a few years ago, barely covers her butt and he let himself gaze at her legs for a moment before he joined her by the sink. Toothbrushes were the only thing they’d really worked out, having one for each other at both their places, so it didn’t matter where they slept. That was where their planning ended. They didn’t really talk about what they were doing, apart from agreeing to keep it out of the office. Not that he minded; he’s been on the wrong side of too much talking. This time, he was going to make sure he didn’t do anything to screw it up.  

“Is it wrong I really feel like waffles right now?” Sloan asks after she spits into the sink. She’s looking at him through the mirror.

He shrugs, waits and spits before answering, “We can get some tomorrow, before we go in.”

She nods, “We also have to stop by mine so I can get changed.”

He hums in acknowledgement and makes his way to his bed, crawling under the covers as quickly as possible. She climbs in over him, rather than going around and tucks herself in by his side. He reaches to turn off the light and when he settles back she drapes her arm across his chest. They’re both exhausted, ready to sleep for as long as they can afford. Her breathing evens in minutes; he knows he’ll be quick to follow, lulled to sleep by her steady breathing and warm body.

* * *

_Two - April 20_

It’s dark when he comes into her office, quiet and solemn. It’s been a hell of a day. It was supposed to be simple, they would have waffles for breakfast and then they would go to work where combined two law degrees, at least three PhDs and several other relatively smart brains would figure out how to get out of this mess. Now, it’s 9pm, they haven’t had dinner but they have been unofficially questioned by the FBI, had their studios nearly raided and Neal is basically a fugitive. Also, she has no idea where they stand right now.

He goes and leans on the shelf by her window. She’s not sure why exactly he likes it there more than the chair she has on the other side of her desk. But he always goes straight around her desk to the window. She maybe she’ll ask him when they don’t have other things to worry about. For now, she pretends to be busy on her Bloomberg Terminal, but really she’s holding her breath waiting for him to say something.

She watches from the corner of her eye as he types something on his phone. He sticks it in his pocket when he’s done and nods at her, “So, where are we going?”

Her head whips around fully now, “You’re doing this _now_?” Their friend is wanted by the FBI and he thinks now is a good time to continue whatever game they’ve been playing today?! She’d be pissed if she wasn’t already overwhelmed with too many conflicting emotions.

He furrows his brow and stares at her for a moment, before his lips quirk up very softly. “This isn’t a test, Sloan. I meant: mine or yours? We could pick up some dinner too, I’m starving.”

She stares at him, waiting to see if he was going to continue.  She was absolutely sure their tug-of-war this afternoon would have shifted something in their otherwise comfortable routine. Today was proof that they had no idea what they were really doing. Don didn’t seem too worried though, he was looking at her warmly even now. When he doesn’t add anything , she finally answers.  “How do you feel about Chinese?”

“I -” he stops himself quickly; “Chinese is good. But we’re getting two portions of crispy prawn because there is no way you’re stealing mine again.” His tone is lighter still, and she knows that he’s teasing. She pouts anyway.

“I always forget I like it until I try some of yours.”

He nods at her then checks his watch. “Well, I’m reminding you now. You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” She stands up and tosses her phone into her bag. “Don?”

“Hm?” He’s by the door already, holding it open for her, even though she’s still behind her desk.

“We’ll be okay, right?”

She hates this. Feeling uncertain about herself, her job, her colleagues. She’s not even sure which _we_ she’s referring to. Everything is on shaky ground, and all she can think of is that last time the rug was pulled out from under her there was only one person who helped her feel like herself again.

He looks at her so earnestly that she just gravitates closer to him and he doesn’t say anything until she’s close enough that he can reach her while still holding the door.  He traces a hand up her arm, lands it on her shoulder. It’s unfamiliar, being so intimate in their workplace. He offers a smile, tight and knowing; this she knows well. She smiles back and her own words from earlier ring loudly in her head.

* * *

_Three - April 23_

Sometimes Sloan stays at work during his show. Not always, which he gets, because he usually leaves the building closer to midnight. He knew she was staying tonight, but it had slipped his mind or he didn’t expect to meet her in his office or he assumed she’d been in her own making heart eyes at her Bloomberg terminal. Whatever it is, he’s hit with surprise when he finds her behind his desk, reading something on her phone.

“What are you doing here?” He asks pointedly, grabbing the papers off his desk to see if he needs to take anything home with him. He doesn’t, so he moves around the desk to turn off his computer.

She frowns, obviously expecting a different welcome. “We’re going out for drink with my friends from Duke, remember?”

He didn’t remember, exactly, but it’s not that he doesn’t want to go. He’s met a couple of her grad friends before and they are nice, if also intimidatingly smart.

He glances out through his glass door, “Maybe it’s not a great idea to for us to be leaving together. There are still a lot of people around?”

“There are always a lot of people around-” She starts but stops abruptly and with a single glance he knows she’s pegged him. “Are you still worried about the HR rep?”

He shrugs, “I just think we should keep being professional at work.” He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of this, but he also really doesn’t want to be transferred off somewhere.

Sloan looks at him pointedly. “We’re great at being discrete. We were together for more than four months before anyone found out and even that was because we told them.”

“Five.”

“What?”

He looks at her, “Five months but that’s not - Look, this guy is already suspicious. That means he’ll be watching us.”

She gets out of his chair and moves around his desk so he can grab his stuff. When he looks up at her her arms are crossed and she looks halfway between concerned and annoyed.

“I think you’re being paranoid. It’s not like they would fire you.”

He sighs, really not wanting to get into this whole thing now. He’s not even sure if he knew how to explain what he was thinking. “That’s not – wait. Why am _I_ the one being fired?”

Sloan ignores him, and continues her own discussion as he holds the door open for her. “Besides, it’s not like it’s unprofessional for two people to walk out of the building at the same time.” She stops and turns around suddenly so he nearly walks into her. “If you’re really worried, I promise I won’t try to seduce you until we’re at least three blocks away.”

He feels himself heat up, and tries to keep a straight face. “Funny.”

Sloan offers him a grin that means she really was trying to be funny, and thinks she succeeded. He wasn’t going to burst her bubble. A bit part of him was freaking out about the HR guy, sure, but an even bigger part of him liked seeing her smile.  

* * *

 _Four_   - _May 3_

She can’t tell if they’ve been sitting on her couch for an hour or ten minutes. Either way neither of them has said anything for a while. The TV is on but muted, and she can’t even tell what’s on the screen. The only thing she’s done since they got home is get changed. Don’s hand is on her leg, his thumb gently stroking the same spot on her yoga pants. Her head is resting on his shoulder.  

They stayed with Mac for a while, saying things like “He’ll be out in a day” and “the ceremony was beautiful” and “it will be okay.” Eventually Mac says she wants to go home and sleep. Sloan isn’t convinced because if it was her she doubts she’d be able to sleep at all. But she understands needing some space and silence. Like they are having right now.

She cautiously recognises that her knack for being alone is evolving into wanting to share these things with him. All of the moments of the past week, the good seemed more enjoyable and the bad more survivable when she could find his gaze across a room or rest her head on his shoulder.

“Don?” she says, her head still on his shoulder so she can’t actually see his face.

He hums gently in acknowledgement. She takes deep breath, lifts herself from him so she can look him in the eye. He’s frowning, but then again they’ve both been frowning since they got home.

“I would choose my job, if they asked,” she starts, waits for the wave of confusion on his face to pass before continuing. “I mean, I’d probably let them finish the question but -”

His lips quirk up knowingly, “Sloan, I know. I’m not an idiot.”

“No, let me finish,” she shakes her head, reaches out to touch his arm. It’s suddenly very important for him to understand what she’s trying to say. “My job isn’t tied into ACN as much as your job is. I mean, I love it, obviously. But I already get competitive offers pretty regularly. I don’t even have a non-compete in my contract. If they wanted to transfer one of us, it would be much easier for me to leave ACN and report financial news for someone else in New York. And that means you and I could stay... here.” She glances around them, at her couch. It was expensive and relatively new, but she hadn’t been sure about it. Not until they’d fallen asleep on it one night after watching one of his favourite films. She’d woken up with his arm around her waist and no pain in her neck and she knew the money had been worth it.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. She wasn’t sure whether he was more shocked at the fact she would leave ACN or that she brought this up herself. She was pretty surprised by both.  He exhales softly and looks at her. “Why did you write that letter?”

“I wanted to get good at it. This.” She breaks his gaze to stare down at her lap, but his hand finds her chin and lifts it.

“You’re great at it, Sloan. I never had any doubts about that. I just didn’t think –”

She stops him with a hand to his chest. She wants to say something, but can’t figure out anything that isn’t too much or too little. She grabs at his shirt and pulls him closer until their lips meet. He kisses her back gently, his hands pulling her closer. She doesn’t want to let go of him, and he seems to feel the same.

“Did we just have The Talk?” he whispers, as he pulls away from her, only just, and rests his forehead on her shoulder.

She rolls her eyes and shuffles so that she’s basically straddling him on the couch. She waits to meet his eyes again, notes they’re darker than before, “You need to stop saying you’re not good enough for me.”

His lips quirk up again, and his hands fall to rest on her waist. “Not gonna happen, have you met yourself? I know my place.”

He nods matter-of-factly as she rolls her eyes again and dips her head to kiss him, feeling like a flower blooming through the rubble.

* * *

_Five - June 24_

They’re in the hospital waiting room and Sloan is shaking. His arm is wrapped around her shoulder so he can feel her against him. And she’s not cold because she wearing his jacket over her own and also it’s actually quite warm in here.

He knows why she’s shaking, it’s the same reason he can’t look anywhere but the floor. 

30 minutes ago he had been so proud of her. He still was proud of her, but 30 minutes ago it consumed him. She was ripping Bree apart, you could feel the bitterness and righteousness coming from her, and the sheer fear coming from him. He loved seeing her like this, diving head first into whatever she believed in so strongly. Most of the time he agreed with her, but he was pragmatic, slightly more reserved when it came to jumping off the deep end. When Sloan knew what had to be done, she basically cut her own brakes and drove at it with full speed. He loved that about her. He wished she could’ve met Mary that afternoon, for a dozen reasons, but also because he thinks they would’ve really liked each other.

Now, all of that is tainted with guilt and fear. He recognises it because he’s feeling exactly the same. There’s no point trying to tell her otherwise, she can out-argue him even when she’s wrong. But he doesn’t even want to argue right now. He just wants to hold her until she stops shaking, until he feels like he can breathe again.

At some point he hears Mac on the phone, promising to be somewhere at 11pm, but he doesn’t react until Nancy Skinner walks into the waiting room. He hadn’t even seen her get to the hospital; she must’ve gone straight to Charlie. Mac stops her pacing. He squeezes Sloan and pulls her up with him.

Nancy’s eyes are red, and her pace is slow. He’s only met her a few  times, but he knows that this was a woman who kept up with Charlie Skinner for years and years and that fact alone forms rock in the pit of his stomach.

She clears her throat, holds her own hand. “Charlie’s heart stopped 10 minutes ago and they weren’t able to revive him,” Nancy says, her voice thick with grief. Next to him Sloan gasps. “They’re calling it sudden cardiac death, but a pathologist needs to confirm the -”

Nancy’s voice trails off and Mac rushes to hug her. He’s not sure he can move, and Sloan curls into him, tucking her head into his shoulder as she lets her tears fall for the first time tonight.

In a couple minutes he would offer Nancy a hug, mutter some words that make him feel numb. In a couple hours he’ll be at home with Sloan, holding her as tightly as he is now. In a couple of days, they would be at Charlie’s funeral, trying to grieve through their guilty consciences.

But now, their mentor, the captain of their ship has just died and the woman he loves is crying on his shoulder and he shuts his eyes against the pain.

* * *

_Six - July 12_

She groans as her eyes open against the light. Her brain is reminding her how much vodka she had last night. And scotch. And Sambuka? It was Maggie’s leaving party and Mac had insisted Sloan drink for the both of them. Will had also insisted he and Mac leave by midnight because apparently sleep is healthy and he’s most definitely on a health kick. Sloan never thought she’d see the day she found Will McAvoy munching on carrot sticks, but that day arrived this week and she’s still only half sure she didn’t dream it.

Maggie and Jim are fiercely optimistic that they’ll be able to pull off a long-distance relationship. He’s even going with her this weekend to help her set up her new flat before she starts on Monday. Part of her wants to caution them, remind them that this stuff is hard especially when you’re only seeing each other on weekends while doing a job that means you’re permanently sleep deprived. But she held her tongue. Mostly because she knows how nice it is to be so optimistic about something and she doesn’t want to burst their bubble.

“Why are we awake?” Don groans beside her.

“It’s after 10,” she says. She’s not entirely sure, because she can’t bring herself to move enough to check the clock but the sun seems pretty high.

“Mmm, but we didn’t get home till 3 last night and it’s not like we went straight to sleep.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining,” she reaches up to poke his cheek.

“I am definitely not now, nor will I ever be complaining about that.” Don replies matter-of-factly. He rolls onto his side so that he was facing her, drapes his arm over her waist, and closes his eyes again. His breathing is even but she’s pretty sure he isn’t asleep. She sometimes did this herself. Before, if she woke up early she would make herself busy. But now she found herself content to close her eyes and feel the warmth of his body next to her.  Sloan thought for a moment about the last time she woke up without Don. Not counting the times he had woken up early to make her breakfast, which is more often than either of them will admit. But really, in the last couple of months it was barely a handful of times and each felt as strange and unwelcome as the last. Her sheets smell like him, he has a preferred pillow at hers and she has one at his. She likes his record collection, likes when he gets really excited about showing her his favourites. Perhaps she’s get him a new record player for her birthday. They both have limited culinary abilities; Don’s are breakfast and hers are soups. She is really good at soups.

“Do you think it’s pointless for us to still have two apartments? When was the last time we slept in separate places?” She asks suddenly. The words are out of her mouth before can process the thought, and then she realises it’s not a new thought at all.

“February second” he mumbles, and they both know he’s just made that date up. But he pauses uneasily after that, no knowing what to say.

“Don,” she urges him. She’s not sure that now is the best time to have this conversation, they’re both half naked and fully hung-over. But she doesn’t want to shy away from things with him. Not hard discussions even if it, maybe, potentially, means less closet space.

He takes a breath, blinks his eyes a couple of times before he looks at her, “You said you wanted to be engaged, before you moved in with someone.”

“Oh.” She had said that and she had meant it. But, she thinks, maybe it took her time or something different altogether to realise that the comfortable weight of commitment doesn’t have to rest in a ring. He doesn’t seem hesitant, rather cautious. Truth be told if he proposed right now she’s not entirely sure she would say yes. But, the idea of sharing a space with him, creating a home with him... that feels like something she would be willing to jump into. She doesn’t know how to say it. How to explain she feels more at home anywhere with him, than alone in her own bed. That he’s made her rethink most of the rules she’s imposed on herself. “What if that changed?”

He beats her to it, an explanation. “You should know, the only reason I have to move in with you is purely selfish. Not having to switch between our places means we get to spend more time like this.” It would have been something different if he’d tried anything, but his arm remained respectfully at her waist and his eyes gazing warmly at her and she knows exactly what he means. She pulls herself closer and kisses him squarely on the lips, then pushes him so that he’s on his back and she’s leaning over him. He’s reaching up, cupping her face and holding her closer still. And yes, more time like this would also be welcome.

He drops his head, breathless, with his hands still cupping her face. He’s smiling widely, like he just remembered a joke. “If we’re moving in together you know you’ll definitely have to meet my parents, right?”

She raises an eyebrow and smiles back, letting her hand drop further down under the covers until she reached the band of his boxers. “You know if I meet your parents you’ll have to meet mine.”

He groans, and mutters “Please let’s stop talking about parents.” before lifting his head to press his lips to her neck.

“Gladly,” she mutters, closing her eyes. He’s sucking at her pulse point and she’ll be furious if he leaves a hickey because it’s too hot for turtlenecks now.

Her thoughts are becoming shorter, and more scattered. They’re going to live together and this idea is terrifying and exciting and the best one she’s ever had. He rolls them over so she’s on her back and she pulls him down to meet her lips. She wonders whether they’ll stay at his or hers or get a new place altogether.  He places a kiss on her collarbone. He prefers the right side of the bed, but doesn’t complain when she steals the covers. And another on her sternum.  She hopes she can talk him into dumping that ugly armchair he has. She can feel his breath on her hip bone. She’ll definitely get him a new record player for his birthday. His fingers slip under the band of her underwear. For a split second she thinks of investments, and knows that falling in love with Don was the surest thing.  


End file.
